


lamentations of regret

by enemeriad



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemeriad/pseuds/enemeriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the most difficult thing in life is loving someone enough to let them go, draco however, never loved anyone more than himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lamentations of regret

He thinks perhaps that this is normal. His parents marriage was dysfunctional and by default, his should be too. It regales him that her demeanour should be similar to his own mother's.  
   
Premeditive.  
   
Calculating.  
   
Manipulative.  
   
She fights back. Every insult he throws at her she retorts.  
   
He smiles.  
   
She is probably a perfect Pureblood woman. Her sense of proprietry paralleled by her witty banter and her resplendent social standing. She is a perfect candidate for wife.  
Curiously, he could potentially like her.  
 

  
   
Their second meeting is at the Greengrass manor. They don't talk. It's much too awkward at fifteen to think about marriage.  
   
He presents the necklace and a small smile grazes her pale face.  
   
Perhaps there's hope.  
 

  
   
There's other things to do at fifteen.  
   
They both know it.  
 

  
   
He winces as she yells.  
   
Her dress is grass-stained, her curls spoiled from his ministrations.  
   
"Don't kiss me, Draco! That's not proper!"  
   
He smirks.  
   
She laughs.  
   
She gives in.  
 

  
   
The war follows their meeting and things don't go to plan.  
   
Narcissa snarls at the house elf to right the lunch order and make sure the house is spotless. They will be having guests.  
   
Lucius finds her so irritating, he hits her.  
   
It doesn't help.  
   
Voldemort, unfortunately, cares less for decor.  
   
Astoria's letters sit unanswered.  
   
Draco has forgotten what he was wishing for.  
 

  
   
Maybe this is how it's supposed to be.  
   
Maybe this is how every relationship ends up.  
   
Dysfunctional.  
   
Disorganised.  
   
Dis.. everything.  
   
  


 

His sixth and seventh years are a blur of death, destruction and internal damnation. He hates himself.  
   
She hates him.  
   
She hates <i>him</i>  
   
The firewhiskey makes it better.  
   
Pansy's red lipstick on his collar makes it worse.  
   
Her tears give him a sense of equilibrium.  
 

  
Astoria doesn't speak to him after she finds out about his mission. She watches the rain fall from her bedroom and burns his letter.  
   
She wishes things were different.  
 

  
   
She has a brief fling with Terry Boot.  
   
Draco knows.  
   
Daphne knows.  
   
Her mother knows.  
   
Astoria pretends for a little longer.  
   
In her picture perfect world, Draco will save her.  
   
In reality, Draco will ruin her.  
 

  
   
He storms into her room and despite the impropriety, he takes her.  
   
She screams and sobs and cries.  
   
He doesn't hear.  
   
He doesn't care.  
   
She shuts her eyes and tries to imagine things were different.  
   
She wishes things were different.  
 

  
   
Terry asks her why she won't see him again.  
   
She doesn't answer and leaves him standing in front of her dormitory.  
   
Draco watches. Waits for the right moment.  
   
Terry never visits again.  
 

  
It isn't love, no, not quite.  
   
It's revenge, dirty, pretty, blackened revenge. Lustful, murderous and cowardly.  
   
Pinned to him. He can't wash off his sins.  
   
Not this time.  
 

  
   
They do get married and he tells her he loves her.  
   
Her tears wrack her.  
   
Her cries fall on deaf ears.  
   
Draco pretends a little longer.  
   
She wishes things were different.  
 

  
   
She once wanted to work as a Healer.  
   
She tells Draco.  
   
For once, he is soft and calm.  
   
He listens.  
   
Perhaps she can love him.  
 

  
   
Maybe he does love her.  
   
She watches him with sincerity and concern when he comes back ragged and injured.  
   
Her touch is tender. Perhaps not loving, on her own accord, but it's somewhere there.  
   
They are dysfunctional.  
   
But they're not pretending.  
  


  
   
One day, it all comes back.  
   
She retorts, talks back to him.  
   
He isn't sure whether he's angry or happy.  
   
He kisses her.  
   
She laughs.  
   
He remembers what he was wishing for.  
 

  
   
Something not quite akin to love falls like an unspoken prayer from the both of them.  
   
Entwined. Sweat beads fall and her eyes look into him.  
   
Really look.  
   
If she can love what she see's in him, he can love her for everything she is.  
   
And for all she isn't, too.  
 

  
   
A child is born.  
   
Through love.  
   
Astoria forgives him.  
   
Draco can't forgive himself.  
   
Picture perfect only lasts for so long.  
  

  
   
The rain falls over the Manors glass panes and the green grass is rejuvenated. Scorpius writes of Hogwarts and a girl he has met. No names are mentioned but Draco knows, he knows, that he won't be happy when her identity is revealed. Astoria quips that the winter social season will be dismal. The weather, she remarks (with just a hint of bitterness), will completely ruin their sons chances at finding his own wife. Little does she know, that Scorpius already has his eyes set on someone.  
 

  
   
Years pass and perhaps they're alright, he thinks. Maybe it was all his fault.  
   
Astoria drinks.  
   
He sleeps with whatever he can find.  
   
They don't really care.  
   
Once a month, he will force her.  
   
She doesn't protest anymore.  
   
  
 

  
   
At society dinners, he smiles, she smiles.  
   
Everything is perfect.  
   
Astoria drinks till she forgets, Draco sleeps with whatever will agree.  
   
Everything is a lie.  
   
Astoria forgets and doesn’t protest anymore.  
   
They forget what they were wishing for.  
 

  
   
They sit at dinner, one night. It’s still raining. Thunder clouds roll over the sky and Draco tastes the vennison.  
   
"Undercooked."  
   
Astoria barely registers his comment and continues sipping her wine.  
   
She prefers drowning to commiserating.  
   
She's learnt the former is more satisfactory.  
   
Draco finds he doesn't mind being ignored.  
   
It's their twentieth anniversary.  
 

  
   
He regrets everything. It strikes him cold, this feeling of a life neglected.  
   
Scorpius pretends his parents are fine. Kisses his mother's cheek, hugs his father.  
   
Draco watches and realises he doesn't want this for him.  
   
“I give you my blessing.”  
   
Scorpius is surprised.  
   
Astoria cries and thanks him.  
 

  
   
A Weasley becomes a Malfoy and Draco realises it was his fault.  
   
Everything was his fault.  
   
He apologises to Astoria.  
   
For everything.  
   
She forgives him.  
 

  
   
The wedding is exactly what Draco’s wasn’t.  
   
Rose’s smile is genuine and Scorpius is in love with her.  
   
The marriage has no societal advantages.  
   
 _Pure_ love.  
   
Draco dances with his wife and he feels so guilty while her smile washes over him.  
   
“I’m sorry,” He whispers.  
   
She nods and perhaps she forgives him but Draco cannot forgive himself.  
   
“You should be happy.”  
   
She smiles but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, turns and walks to thank the parents of the bride.  
   
Draco follows her toward them and he shakes Ron’s hand.  
   
“Congratulations.”  
   
And for the first time in his life, as he watches Hermione and Ron dance he feels jealous of the  the man.  
   
 _Love_.  
   
What did it even entail?  
 

  
   
In the dead of night Draco wakes to an empty room.  
   
Regret makes for a cold bedmate.  
   
Her bags sit at the door.  
   
She manages to smile. Thank him, for what, he doesn't have the humility to ask.  
   
She leaves.  
   
And Draco realises it was the right thing to do.  
 

  
   
He sits alone, carefully placing the tea back onto the saucer but his hands are shaky and it clatters to the floor.  
   
He swears.  
   
 _Sighs_.  
   
The house is quiet and Draco sits back.  
   
Everyone has found their own.  
   
Astoria made a living for herself healing and Scorpius is with his wife.  The memories trigger other memories, fuzzy, blurred at the edges but still. Happy.  
   
 _Happy_.  
   
The house is quiet and Draco realizes that forgiveness comes with cold privilege.  
   
The privilege to remember your sins for the rest of your life.  
   
But the quiet is calming, he is old and his mind is slowly going.  
   
He can’t remember what he was wishing for. Maybe he is happy.   
 


End file.
